


Gloss

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Mild Crossdressing Kink, Mirror Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-14 13:05:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1267567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock paints Jim's lips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Regular Universe

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on [4aab's gorgeous art](http://4aab.tumblr.com/post/78440781199). There's tons more beautiful ST fanart where that came from, so check out that tumblr! ♥

Jim doesn’t tease. He doesn’t even smirk. He fights the urge to smile, to show any signs of laughter; he knows how hard it must’ve been for Spock to admit to any sort of _fetish_ at all, and Jim guards that knowledge with trust. He doesn’t want to make Spock feel ashamed, regret sharing, feel anything but safe sharing _everything_ with Jim. Lord knows Jim’s had his fair share of kinks fulfilled. When Spock finally answers the question—what do _you_ want, Mr. Spock?—Jim listens unconditionally. 

He sits on the edge of the bed, their bed. His legs are crossed, posture tight, even though when Spock approaches, he automatically leans forward. He’s still in his uniform; they both are. But they’re in closed quarters. Wherever they are, Jim’s always drawn to Spock. His eyes flicker up, and he promises with them: this is okay, this is safe. He loves Spock too much for it to be anything but. 

Spock comes close enough to touch. His hand lifts to Jim’s cheek, and Jim leans into it, eyes flickering closed as long fingers brush back into his hair. There’s something about Spock’s warm hands that always gets to him, makes him tremble and want for _more_. Spock is good to him. Spock thumbs his cheek and pets his face, slipping back with a fire in his eyes that betrays the otherwise neutrality. 

When Spock’s other hand appears, Jim isn’t quite expecting it. The idea was divulged, not the details. Spock lifts one eyebrow—Jim can back out. Jim wouldn’t. Spock isn’t smiling, but he rarely is, and Jim would move mountains for the chance that he might. 

Jim lets Spock’s thumb weigh down his bottom lip. His mouth opens lightly, and he resists the strong urge to reach out his tongue and lap at Spock’s fingers, worship Spock’s hand like he knows Spock _loves_ , no matter how dirty and forbidden it is for a Vulcan. He keeps his tongue in his mouth like a good boy, opens his eyes again and keeps them focused up on his t’hy’la’s face, just as serious as Spock is. 

Spock uncaps the tube in his hand. His other fingers slip below Jim’s chin, tilting it up, and Jim goes where he’s held. The bright red lipstick presses against the corner of his lip, cool and foreign. Spock’s thumb gently strokes his jaw. He holds still. 

Jim’s never worn lipstick before. He’s not even used to chapstick. For Spock, he’d wear anything. He’s still as the slanted, flat surface runs over his upper lip, not exactly hard but hard enough to make his plush lip mold against it. He thinks Spock’s supposed to do the bottom first, but he doesn’t know, and Spock doesn’t stop. Spock traces the outline of his upper lip, then comes back to press along the bottom, digging in, leaving a thick, odd trail behind it that Jim can faintly taste. It smudges at the corner of his lips, but he lets it stay. Spock tries to wipe one corner clean with his thumb. Jim feels vaguely like some sort of old-fashioned doll. 

He tilts his head higher when Spock’s fingers leave him. His eyes lower halfway, already there, cheeks maybe a little warm. He wouldn’t let anyone else see him like this. Spock doesn’t say a word. 

Spock leans down to press a gentle kiss against his lips. Jim follows Spock’s lead, gentle back, holding away his tongue and the urge to devour Spock whole. When Spock pulls away, his bow lips are smeared rosy red. He tries to straighten. 

Jim grabs his collar. Jim kisses his cheek, firm and shapely, pulling back to see the imprint of his lips. Spock has a sharp intake of breath, and his pupils are a little dilated, the tips of his ears perhaps a smidgen more green than usual. 

Spock breathes, “Jim,” and shivers. 

Jim leaves lipstick on Spock’s collar: Spock’s own personal mistress.


	2. Mirror Universe

Jim’s still held on his knees when the new captain walks in—the _acting_ captain who’s declared him incompetent, still too new to be in gold instead of blue. If Jim’s arms weren’t firmly tied behind his back, he might be using them to rip that cerulean tunic right off his usurper’s chest. 

But then, he knows better than that. He didn’t make it through the Empire just with his fists, whatever the rumours say. He’s mad about the mutiny, of course—Pike left _him_ in charge—but he’s more bitterly wondering about why the hell Spock kept him on the ship. He can’t read Spock’s face. It’s solemn, neutral. Spock strolls closer, hands hidden and sternly held behind his back.

Jim drawls, looking up, “Why didn’t you just put me in a pod and shoot me off to some cold, dead asteroid?” Spock lifts one elegant eyebrow. 

Spock comes close enough to slip a hand below Jim’s chin, and Jim’s face is tilted up. He’s surprised when his cheek’s caressed by Spock’s thumb, fingers warm against his skin. He wasn’t expecting such an intimate touch from a Vulcan. But then, he wasn’t expecting to be alive. 

Spock’s an enigma he doesn’t understand, and Spock tells him simply, quietly, “You are too beautiful to send away.” Jim’s back stiffens instantly, both in shock and worry. 

Fear isn’t right. James Kirk doesn’t _fear_ things, and it isn’t terror; nothing about the handsome Vulcan before him is terrifying. Somehow, when Jim daydreamed about fucking his acting first officer in the captain’s chair, it didn’t start like this. He thought it ended with the mutiny. Spock had him stripped of command and thrown off the bridge. And now...

Spock produces his other hand, a little, half-gold tube in it, something he untwists. Jim eyes it, still frozen, and parts his lips, mostly just in surprise. His eyes flicker back to Spock’s, but he still can’t read anything there.

Spock presses the lipstick against the middle of Jim’s top lip. It feels odd, somewhat soft, smooth, and Spock draws it over the arch and back down to the corner. It smears there, and Spock seems to pay that no mind, simply draws it over Jim’s bottom lip, turning pink to cherry red. Again, messy in the corner. Like some poorly painted seductress. When Spock’s done, Jim flexes his jaw in Spock’s grip, testing his mouth. He licks his bottom lip—a nervous habit—and scrunches up his face. It tastes waxy and unpleasant. Spock presses the tube back to him and starts again. 

It’s humiliating, in a way. Being painted like this. He’s meant to be the captain’s toy, then. Shame tints his cheeks, and in some horrible, traitorous way, he’s oddly excited under that. He can’t help it. The taboo sends a thrill up his spine; he never quite took humiliation the way he should. Spock fixes his lips, and Jim wonders hazily if he looks _pretty_.

Spock bends down, heading to kiss him, and Jim tilts his head up, waiting.


End file.
